Dear children of mine;
I admire your creativity, spontaneity, and passion, and I am thrilled that you found a way to make it feel like you were really throwing icy blasts like Elsa.
|The Floor. Everywhere.|
And I certainly hope that this is one of those childhood memories that you take with you for the rest of your lives and can think back on fondly no matter what.
Because otherwise, I have no words to describe the level of...sparkle...that has inextricably overtaken our home...
|I pet the cat, and came away with some glitter on my hand.|
|Cameras suck at capturing glitter carnage; but you can note some shimmering on her pants. and forehead.|
(And here I thought the battle was limited to two coated palms in the kitchen...the more fool I, for as I focused on my work, the entire house was beseiged by battling handfuls of projectile 'magic', and as of now, I haven't found a single surface that has been spared. Except, mercifully and to your credit, for the computer desk.)
|Yup. glitter. the pixie dust kind that doesn't wash out, like, ever.|
I love you fiercely, my wonderfully troublesome little faeries.
|What is left. Oh yes, these were full before the attack. I had used a sprinkling from each one for projects.|